


Twice Crowned Prince

by thenerdyindividual



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Cuddling & Snuggling, M/M, Nipple Piercings, Nipple Play, Prince Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Resolved Sexual Tension, Season/Series 03, Sharing a Bed, This Is STUPID, Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:34:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29852625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenerdyindividual/pseuds/thenerdyindividual
Summary: Arthur travels to another kingdom in order to secure a peace treaty. The king is willing to sign if Arthur promises to participate in a particular tradition of the kingdom. Merlin thinks he might combust, and Arthur's knights all have varied reactions.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 37





	Twice Crowned Prince

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anarchycox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anarchycox/gifts).



**1\. How it Happened**

Merlin has never been on a boat before, and he has to say that it is a strangely exhilarating experience. The wind whips through his hair and turns his cheeks pink, the water slaps the side with a consistent gentle splashing, and while he has heard that the constant rocking has been known to turn men’s stomachs it doesn’t bother him in the least. They’re lucky as well, they have a strong wind at their backs (or at least that’s what he’s heard the sailors say) and the boat moves quickly through the sea. Occasionally, the wind will pick up speed, the sails will billow out with a crack, and the boat will take on a burst of speed that makes Merlin whoop with joy. It reminds Merlin a bit of riding Kilgharrah, but without the danger of falling. There is also the added joy of every single one of the sailors, captain included, taking a shine to him though he can’t figure out why.

There are other benefits to the boat trip than just the novelty of it. For one thing, it has gotten Arthur out of Camelot. Historically, Arthur setting so much as a toe out of the citadel never ended well for them. Now though, with Morgana deep in her plot to take the throne, Merlin can see the benefit of keeping Arthur out of her clutches. Beyond just the practical safety reasons, something about this has softened Arthur. His smiles come quicker and are more affectionate. His hair is a wind-tossed mess like Merlin’s and damp from the spray so that it turns almost coppery, and his cheeks are equally red from the chill wind. Normally Arthur only gets like this straight after a tournament, and Merlin likes that he gets to enjoy him this way when he isn’t battling for Uther’s approval and the approval of his people. 

The best part occurs at night. The ship is small, with barely enough room for the sailors who crew it, let alone two passengers, and it means that the two of them have to share a bunk. The last time they shared a sleeping arrangement was years ago during what Arthur refers to as The Battle of Ealdor, and they didn’t know each other well then so they slept top to toe. They are friends now, or as close to friends as they can get while Uther keeps the gap between their stations firmly fixed in their minds, and they shared a bunk side by side last night. Merlin slept on the outside edge of the bunk because he is built much more narrowly than Arthur, but he woke with his nose pressed into the hollow of Arthur’s throat and Arthur’s arm wrapped around his waist, warm and heavy. 

The dock appears over the horizon, and there is a corresponding flurry of activity on the top deck. Arthur and Merlin do their best to stand against the railing out of the way. It is one of those days where the sky is an endless grey, but not the kind of grey that promises a storm or rain, and the sea itself is the deep dark grey reserved for well-worn iron. The wind isn’t as strong today, only occasionally ruffling their clothes, and Arthur’s shoulder is warm against Merlin’s.

“How long is the trip to the castle?” Merlin asks, raising his voice to be heard above the din of activity.

“Better part of six hours!” Arthur shouts back, “There should be horses waiting for us once we dock!”

This journey started a little over a week ago when Arthur returned from a meeting with his father, and flopped dramatically into his seat. Merlin has grown accustomed to this behavior whenever Arthur has to deal with Uther these days. It is like the more Arthur grows, the more he becomes his own man with his own beliefs, the more Uther tries to rein Arthur in. More often than not those meetings end exactly how this one did, with Arthur pouting at his dining table.

Merlin stopped sharpening Arthur’s sword long enough to quirk a sympathetic little smile and ask, “Want to talk about it?”

Arthur sighed heavily and shrugged, “I am going to be missing the spring celebrations this year.”

The spring celebrations were always Arthur’s favorite part of the year. There were cakes and pastries to be had, a friendly tourney between Camelot knights to compete in, and for the last few years it ended with the two of them sneaking down to the lower town to drink too much and fall over each other with laughter. 

“Why’s that?”

“My father has decided that we need to confirm a treaty with King Aengus before the summer.”

“Isn’t he the King of Munster?” Merlin asked with a frown.

Arthur looked at him with that surprised and impressed face he always gets when Merlin proves himself to be knowledgeable about something he doesn’t need to know, and nodded.

“Wouldn’t he have to cross a sea in order to invade us?”

“That sea can be crossed in a little over a day, two at most, Merlin.”

“Still seems like a lot of effort on his part.”

“It would takes less than you think.” Arthur said, “He could land on the shores of Camelot and the entire army could be at the citadel in half a day. In some ways it would take less effort than Essetir would need to put in.”

“So you’re going to Munster?” Merlin confirmed and went back to sharpening Arthur’s sword.

“And you’re coming with me.”

Which is how they find themselves here, in a little town on the coast of Munster, saddling horses left to them by King Aengus himself. The ride itself isn’t so bad, but it is exhausting. There aren’t as many forests to cut through as there are around Camelot so they don’t have to slow to prevent the horses from twisting an ankle. Arthur is in a mood, however, and pushes them to ride hard for Rock of Cashel. They break in midafternoon for a quick lunch from the supplies they picked up at the same time as their horses, before continuing on. 

They reach Rock of Cashel just before nightfall, pause to get directions from a gate guard, and clatter into the courtyard a few minutes later. Someone must have alerted King Aengus to their arrival because he is already waiting on the steps for them when they arrive. Arthur dismounts with his diplomatic smile, passes his reins to Merlin, and approaches.

King Aengus reminds Merlin a bit of Balinor, and the realization makes him catch his breath. He has done an excellent job since Balinor’s death of not thinking of him too often, but Aengus is so much like him. He has the same greying chin length hair and similar noses, but his eyes lack that haunted look that Balinor’s had. Merlin turns his head back towards the horses before he can get caught staring. 

“It is good to meet you, Prince Arthur.” Aengus says, and out of the corner of his eye Merlin can see him shaking Arthur’s hand.

Arthur responds in kind, not sounding at all as stiff and concerned as Merlin knows he is. This is the first time Uther has trusted Arthur to form diplomatic ties on his own, and if this falls through it is as good as showing him that Arthur is unfit to rule. Merlin wonders, as he unloads their things and passes the reins to a stable hand, who would take the crown if Uther were to disinherit Arthur. Morgana would be the only other person with a claim, but Uther isn’t the type to admit to his transgressions. It would be a cold day in hell before he ever acknowledged Morgana’s hypothetical rights to the throne.

“And who is this?” King Aengus’s voice rings out, and Merlin’s head snaps up at the sudden increase in volume. Aengus is eyeing him curiously, like Merlin is a rather interesting pet, and Merlin resents that look and all it implies.

“Ah. That is my manservant, Merlin.” Arthur announces with a tone just this side of too fond, “I didn’t want to impose on you by asking for a servant when I could bring my own.”

Aengus turns to look at Arthur, Merlin all but forgotten, and smiles surprisingly warmly, “That was very wise of you, Arthur. We won’t talk of treaties tonight. You will no doubt be needing rest after your days of travel. I will have my own servant show you to your quarters.”

They follow a mousey young man into the castle. Merlin is exhausted enough from travel that he loses tracks of which turns and staircases they’ve taken after about three seconds, and he resigns himself to getting lost tomorrow in the process of trying to track down the kitchen to fetch Arthur’s breakfast. Hopefully the servants here will be as nice as the ones in Camelot, and will give him directions when needed.

The mousey servant leads them into a room that is roughly the same size as Arthur’s bedroom in Camelot. It is missing a dining chamber like the one attached to Arthur’s, but that makes sense. As guests they would be taking meals with their host, there isn’t a need for a gigantic table. A set of comfortable looking chairs are situated in front of the fire, and Merlin thinks he would die just to sit down on them a moment.

“If there is anything you should require that your own servant cannot provide, My Lord, all you must do is ask for Mathew.” The mousey servant says in a nasally voice that utterly betrays the mousiness of his looks.

Arthur smiles tiredly and nods, “I thank you for your help, Mathew.”

Mathew bows and shuffles backwards out of the room, much to Arthur and Merlin’s confusion. As soon as the door closes, Arthur groans and flops dramatically on the bed.

“Please tell me I don’t have to go fetch dinner.” Merlin begs as he drops their bags on the floor.

“Aengus promised someone would be coming up with trays for us at some point.”

“Oh thank god.” Merlin sighs and hobbles over to one of the chairs.

“I don’t know why you’re so sore, Merlin. We’ve ridden longer than that on hunts before.”

“I think it was the boat. I used different muscles in my legs to keep myself from toppling every time it rocked, and then we rode for several hours. Now everything hurts.”

Arthur snorts from the bed, “Well as long as you’re still well enough to help me change for the night.”

“I am not unpacking until tomorrow.” Merlin insists, turning around in the chair so he can address Arthur head on.

“That’s fine.” Arthur says and waves a hand in the air as if to prove how fine it really is, “You can do it after you help me dress tomorrow morning.”

Just then there is a knock at the door, and Merlin staggers to his feet with a groan. He accepts the dinner tray from the maidservant on the other side, offers her as friendly a smile as he can given his legs feel like they’ve turned to stone, then closes the door and hobbles over to the bed. He and Arthur eat in silence, leaning heavily against one another in their weariness.

They both change into their sleeping clothes, letting out identical sounds of relief when they remove their boots, and Arthur slips into bed. Merlin hovers awkwardly off to one side. Normally at this point he would have gone back to his room, but here he doesn’t have one here. This room doesn’t even have an antechamber for a servant, probably because Aengus wasn’t expecting Arthur to bring one. Merlin could, theoretically, ask Arthur to budge over and share, but it feels strangely obtrusive now that they are somewhere Arthur is meant to be a prince.

Eventually he retrieves a spare pillow and blanket, and takes up residence on one of the chairs. He leans over to blow out the final candle on the side table where he set the dinner tray. He tugs the blanket over his shoulders and shifts around until he is somewhat comfortable, and falls fast asleep.

Sunlight peeking through the gap in the curtains is what wakes Merlin the next morning. He sits up properly in order to start the day, and immediately regrets it. Sleeping in the chair was the wrong choice, he should’ve just bullied Arthur into giving up half his bed. His stiffness from the night before is nothing compared to what it is today. It hurts to move his head even an inch. 

There is another knock at the door, and Merlin briefly considers staying in the chair and weeping until the knocking wakes Arthur. Instead he heaves himself to his feet, feeling worse than he did when he was Dragoon, because in the end Arthur might throw something and Merlin is too stiff to dodge.

He is greeted by the sight of a different maidservant when he opens the door, and this one is bearing a breakfast tray. 

“The King thought you might not know where the kitchens were, and thought it best for the prince to be well fed in time for their meeting.”

“Thank you.” Merlin says with the most gratitude he has ever felt, “You’re a life saver.”

The maidservant smiles, reminding him a bit of Gwen, and says, “It was no trouble. Come find me in the kitchens later if you need anything.”

Merlin exchanges the dinner tray for the breakfast one, closes the door behind himself, staggers over to the side table, and doesn’t so much as set the tray on the table as drop it from a few inches above because his back twinges. The noise startles Arthur awake though, and he blinks owlishly at the room for a few moments, looking hilariously and entirely un-princely, before he spots Merlin.

“What the hell was that?”

“Breakfast.” Merlin answers cheerfully.

It takes until after Arthur has woken enough to be coherent, in the middle of Merlin helping him dress, before he squints and asks, “What’s wrong with your back?”

“I slept on the chair.”

*

King Aengus is already waiting outside the great hall when they arrive, and he greets Arthur with the same friendly, nearly paternal, smile from the night before.

“Was everything to your liking?” Aengus asks.

“The bed was very comfortable.” Arthur says reassuringly, “Although, I was tired enough I probably could have fallen asleep sitting up.”

Merlin fixes the back of Arthur’s head with an irritated look. That comment was very pointed.

The response draws a chuckle from Aengus who nods and says, “Well, I am glad you are so well rested. Why don’t we begin discussions?”

The doors to the great hall swing open, and Arthur and Aengus step inside with Merlin hot on Arthur’s heels. Arthur and Aengus take a seat at the table, and Merlin moves to take his usual position to the right of Arthur’s shoulder and several steps away. It is what he does in council meetings at least three times a week, and he doesn’t see why it wouldn’t be the same here. The motion catches Aengus’s eye, and he frowns. Thankfully he looks more confused than angry. 

Noticing Aengus’s expression, Arthur sits up straighter and asks, “Is there a problem?”

“You servant has followed us, it would seem.”

“Oh.” Arthur says, glancing over his shoulder and looking wrong-footed, “It’s how we do things in Camelot. Servants bring water and the like so we don’t have to pause negotiations to get it ourselves.”

“I’m afraid I prefer to conduct negotiations in total privacy.”

“Of course. My apologies. Merlin, you may go.”

“My Lord?” Merlin asks, trying to inject into his voice that he doesn’t want to leave Arthur alone with a foreign king.

“Go, Merlin.” Arthur says, more forcefully this time. There is nothing for it at that point. Arthur has that ‘For once listen to my orders’ tone of voice. So Merlin strides as confidently as he can out of the great hall, and tries not to take it as an omen when the doors thud shut behind him.

He is left to wander to castle pointlessly. He practices finding the kitchen so he doesn’t have to rely on Aengus’s servants every morning and night, but it doesn’t take him long to memorize the route. He gets the lay of other areas of the castle as well, but every moment he doesn’t have eyes on Arthur is a moment when his mind conjures all sorts of unpleasant scenarios about how Aengus could assassinate Arthur before Arthur got a chance to lift his sword. Yet, Arthur returns to his chambers every evening unscathed if a little weary. 

When Merlin moves to lie on the floor the second night in the hope that it will make him less stiff than the chair, Arthur sighs, lifts the corner of his covers and snaps, “Merlin, just get in.”

“Are you sure?” 

Arthur rolls his eyes and says, “I shared a much smaller bed with you on the boat. Just get in here.”

And that matter is settled for the remainder of their stay.

*

“How are the negotiations?” Merlin asks on their tenth night there.

Arthur sits in front of the fire, head resting on one hand. His eyelids droop, indicative of how much this must be taking out of him because Merlin has only seen Arthur too tired to keep his eyes open when they fought the Knights of Medhir. At Merlin’s question, he straightens with a soft groan and blinks sleepily in Merlin’s direction.

“Almost done. There is one last commitment he wants from me, and then the treaty will hold.”

“What’s the commitment?” Merlin asks and moves over to the bed to start turning down the covers for the night so he can dump Arthur into them in a minute, complaints about not needing to be tucked in like a child be damned.

“He wants me to pierce my nipples.”

Merlin snorts out a laugh, and fluffs a pillow into shape. There is no responding chuckle from Arthur. Merlin pauses, turns, takes in Arthur’s sleepy but serious pout, and blanches.

“You’re serious?”

“No need to shriek, Merlin.” Arthur replies, haughty edge to his voice.

“I didn’t shriek.”

“Apparently,” Arthur barges on without responding to Merlin’s protest, “there is a bit of a belief about a king’s nipples. They’re sacred or some such nonsense. He showed me his own nipple piercings, I think probably to throw me off so I would decline his offer and void the treaty, and explained the tradition.”

“Please stop saying nipple.” 

“Nipple.”

Merlin scowls at Arthur’s wicked grin, “Are you mad? You can’t get your nipples pierced!”

“Why not? It’s just a quick jab and then it’s over with. Besides, if it’s their tradition then I should honor it as they are offering to honor me. It’s the only way to be a good ally.”

“But—” 

“It’s happening tomorrow morning, and you aren’t coming with me.” Arthur announces and gets to his feet with an audible pop in his back, “You would only faint, and make Aengus think Camelot’s citizens are weak. Let’s go to bed.”

**2\. How Merlin Reacts**

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Merlin asks the next morning as he helps Arthur into his tunic, sans jacket and belt. He is only going to have to remove it in a few minutes anyway.

“For god’s sake, stop worrying.” Arthur says, tugging himself out of Merlin’s grasp, “It will be fine.”

“What would your father say if he found out?” Merlin asks, trying the last possible card he has to try to talk Arthur out of this madness.

“He would want me to get the treaty.” Arthur says stubbornly. Silence falls between them for a minute as Arthur looks over his notes from the meeting the day before, then he looks up at Merlin with a very serious expression and says, “My father can never know about this.”

“So he wouldn’t like it!” Merlin says triumphantly.

“Oh shut up and worry about your own nipples.”

Merlin is still reeling from the implications of that response when Arthur leaves to go get the procedure done. With Arthur already out the door, there is no convincing him to stop and all Merlin can do now is wait. He wanders the room, tidying what few little messes he can find and pretending that he isn’t pacing and anxiously checking the angle of the sun to see how much time has passed. By the time sunset rolls around and Arthur still isn’t back, Merlin considers going to track him down himself. Surely it can’t take that long to shove a bit of metal through a body part.

The door finally opens just when Merlin has actually made the decision to go, and accept whatever consequences are thrown his way as a result. Arthur staggers into the room with something clutched in his left hand. His face is lined with exhaustion, and pain.

“Is everything alright?” Merlin asks, racing across the room.

Arthur bats his hands away with a groan and goes to flop, on his back Merlin notices, on the bed. “I’m fine.”

“You look like you’re in pain.” 

“Yes well, turns out getting a needle jammed through your nipple hurts more than one would think. No! Don’t say ‘I told you so’ if you want to keep your head.”

“They aren’t infected are they? What took so long?”

“Aengus wanted to discuss the treaty some more before we went through with it, and then he wanted to have a celebratory dinner after. This,” Arthur chucks something that Merlin catches, “is an ointment I’m meant to use.”

“You have to rub ointment on your piercings?”

“Apparently it will prevent irritation and infection.”

Merlin unscrews the lid and takes an experimental sniff, and nearly chokes on the overwhelming scent. “Well I see why they say it will prevent irritation.” He says with watering eyes as he screws the lid back on, “There is enough peppermint in there to numb the hide of a horse. You’re going to be suffering from cold fingers for as long as it take for those to heal.”

Arthur props himself up on the bed and raises his eyebrows in a way that is suspiciously innocent, “Why would I have numb fingers?”

“Because you have to rub this stuff in?” Merlin responds hesitantly.

“I meant why would I have numb fingers if I’m not the one applying it?”

“Oh no. No way am I rubbing _ointment_ into your…” he makes a helpless gesture in Arthur’s direction.

He has seen Arthur in a lot of compromising positions. He has seen Arthur weak and shaking from injury and poison. He has seen him walk fully naked to the tub. Hell, he helps Arthur get dressed every morning. The last two especially, there is always an undercurrent of something zinging between them, or Merlin thinks there is. It’s just, he can never quite tell if Arthur looks at him that way because Arthur has never had any proper friends, or because he feels the same way Merlin does.

This? Getting this close to Arthur? Touching him somewhere sensitive and private? Merlin might actually self-combust. His ability to ignore the effect Arthur has on him will be completely shot, and if it turns out that Arthur hasn’t _also_ been ignoring his own feelings then Merlin is going to end up with his head on a stick outside Camelot’s walls. A gruesome warning to all others who might get too close to one Arthur Pendragon.

“Nipples?” Arthur suggests helpfully, completing Merlin’s sentence, “You can say the word, Merlin. It isn’t going to bite you.”

Merlin sends Arthur a helpless look, “It is a weird word. Please don’t make me do this.” 

It was the wrong thing to say, Merlin sees that now. Arthur’s favorite past time is driving Merlin mad, so if Merlin had wanted to get out of this, he should have thought up a proper excuse instead of appealing to Arthur’s sense of humanity when he’s in a mood. Unfortunately, Merlin’s head was a bit too scrambled with panic over touching Arthur’s chest to consider his options.

“Come on, Merlin, I’m to apply it twice before bed.” Arthur announces with an evil grin and sits up so he can whip his shirt over his head.

There are moments when Merlin really, really, hates his destiny. 

He shuffles over to Arthur’s bed, gripping the jar of ointment so hard his knuckles are white. This close Merlin can see the gleaming little bars that have been shoved through each of Arthur’s nipples. Merlin squeezes his eyes tight shut and does something he has never done before. He prays to the Triple Goddess. Actually, it’s more like silent begging. There are vague promises of what he was willing to do on her behalf if he survives this and a lot of pleading that he makes it through this without embarrassing himself, all tinged with an air of desperation.

He opens his eyes again to find Arthur watching him with curious eyes. Merlin offers up what he hopes is a confident grin, unscrews the lid of the jar, and both of them briefly choke on the peppermint smell that is so strong that the scent starts to give way to something that can only be described as stench. He dips his fingers into the peppermint ointment experimentally. It clings to his skin, greasy and thick. He takes a deep breath, passes the jar to Arthur so he can screw the lid on with his nice clean hands, and directs his gaze to Arthur’s chest. 

Merlin has done a good job of keeping Arthur’s attractiveness to an abstract concept, except for those few weak moments when Arthur would do something noble, or absurdly kind, or showed Merlin how much he cared for him. It is very hard to keep it as an abstract concept now. Arthur’s nipples are pink and pretty, and perhaps a little swollen from having things pushed through them unexpectedly. The bars are made of silver, a little longer than the tip of Merlin’s thumb, and sadly they actually look quite fetching. 

Merlin keeps a steady chant of “just a servant, just a servant” going in his mind as he reaches out and smooths his thumb over Arthur’s left nipple. The ointment smears on thick and sticky, and Merlin starts mentally screaming “just a servant!” as he starts to rub it in. He is so focused on his task and not giving any reaction away that he gets a tunnel vision of sorts. It is the only explanation he has for why he doesn’t notice Arthur until he switches to the right nipple.

Briefly coming out of his tunnel vision, Merlin glances surreptitiously up at Arthur. His head is tilted back, nose scrunched up, lip caught between his teeth. A different kind of panic floods his system at the idea he could have been hurting Arthur this whole time.

“Does it hurt?” he asks breathlessly, “We can take a break. It’s a sensitive part of the body.”

“Hurts a little.” Arthur admits, “Not as much thanks to the peppermint.”

“Oh. That’s good. Then why the face?” Merlin asks, feeling a rush of relief that Arthur isn’t secretly hurting and trying to tough it out like the stupid thick headed knight he is.

Arthur turns his face away without opening his eyes, and Merlin realizes that there is a slight blush staining Arthur’s cheeks, “Feels good.” Arthur mumbles.

“Oh. Uh… because…” Merlin swallows heavily, staring at the wall across from the bed, a nice safe neutral zone, “Because of the peppermint or?”

“It’s um… they are more… how did you describe it? Sensitive? Than before.” Arthur answers without moving.

“So it’s because I’m touching them? Or I mean… not because of _me_ , just because someone is touching them?”

“Merlin?”

“Yeah?”

“Please spare us both the embarrassment and shut up.”

“Right. Yeah. Of course.” Merlin agrees and moves on to the right nipple. His hands are shaking, and he accidentally bumps the bar.

Arthur hisses, and his hand shoots out to grip Merlin by the shoulder.

“Sorry! Sorry!” Merlin babbles, all composure gone, “Did I hurt you?”

“No.” Arthur answers through grit teeth, “Just overwhelmed. I think this was a bad idea. I don’t know how I’m going to function if every little movement against them drives me mad.”

Merlin has one of those moments where his mouth runs ahead of his brain and he blurts out, “I could help!”

That is enough to get Arthur to open his eyes, and he stares at Merlin with a look that is a little dazed from the sensations on his chest, and largely confused by Merlin’s offer, “How would you _help_?”

“I could um… help you get used to things touching…”

“Merlin,” Arthur says slowly, “are you offering to play with my nipples?”

“No!” Merlin exclaims, feeling his face heat, and then he grimaces and says much more uncertainly, “Maybe?”

“That is a surprisingly generous offer, but I can’t ask you to do that. That is going to be above and beyond any servants’ duties.”

“I don’t mind. I like… touching you is nice…”

Arthur’s brow is wirnkled incredulously when Merlin finds it in himself to look up again. Arthur pats his shoulder clumsily, “I’m sorry. I thought I was hiding it.”

“Hiding what?”

“How much… the fact that my feelings for you aren’t strictly platonic. I apologize that I made you feel obligated to fulfil—”

“Wait. Stop.” Merlin interrupts and Arthur’s mouth snaps shut, “I was right? You do want me?”

“You are my only friend.” Arthur says solemnly, “I would never risk ruining what we had over a crush, no matter how long lasting.”

“You have a crush on me!” Merlin crows, Arthur’s nipples forgotten in his moment of delight, “I was right!”

“Merlin…” Arthur sighs, sounding very tired and resigned.

“No. Shush.” Merlin interrupts, “I have feelings for you as well, and I always thought you might feel the same, but I wasn’t sure. This is excellent news.”

“It’s very kind of you to try to be a good sport about this.”

“Arthur, I’m serious. I’ve been attracted to you from the day we met in the market place. I will admit that the actually romantic aspects came later because you really were an awful prat, but I do. Have feelings I mean.”

Arthur stares at him as he process everything, then a pleased grin breaks across his face and he fists the shoulder of Merlin’s jacket and hauls him upward, demanding to be kissed. Their mouths come together in a slick slide, and for a while that’s all they do. Their breath is warm and heavy between them whenever they separate to drag air into their lungs. Merlin stands between Arthur’s legs, in the bracket of his hips, feeling a little like this was where he was always meant to be. Then he shifts his weight slightly to get a better angle for pressing his tongue into Arthur’s mouth, and his thigh brushes something hard.

He pulls back, swallowing air, and looks down at Arthur’s very noticeable erection. It takes him a moment, then he grins at Arthur and asks, “Want me to take care of that?”

Arthur’s eyes darken and he grabs a handful of Merlin’s tunic, muttering, “Get this off. _Now_.”

Several minutes later, with Arthur twitching and whimpering under his hands, Merlin thinks that once Arthur’s nipples heal they should get another set of bars made of gold. He says as much to Arthur, and is rewarded with a loud moan.

**Author's Note:**

> In my defense! I sent this [ post](https://fatassjudas.tumblr.com/post/644585750132899840/sraithpics-krishnath-between-stars-and-waves) as a joke to anarchy to torture her. Then I made a joke about this making it theoretically possible for canon era Arthur to have nipple piercings, and somehow I ended up here.
> 
> This is the weirdest thing I've ever written.


End file.
